


In Evasion

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Series: Loyalty [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25157230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By DiamondTorn between Frodo and Boromir, groping for answers in the mines of Moria . . . part 5 of Loyalty, 2nd tale in Of Hobbits and Men series.
Relationships: Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Sam Gamgee, Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Series: Loyalty [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819990
Kudos: 2
Collections: Least Expected





	In Evasion

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me and I make no profit for them. It is done for love.  
> Feedback: !!Feedback!!  
> Story Notes: again book cannon--it was not Merry or Pippin who threw that rock into the pond.

The next twenty-four hours were a nightmare.

Exhausted after the march down Caradhras, Sam had thought they'd at least get a night of rest before embarking on those awful-sounding mines of Moria, but the wolves certainly had other plans. It was the first attack Sam had witnessed since Weathertop, and to his mind more brutal, for he saw just what his companions were capable of in a stitch. He only commented on Gandalf's fancy fire trick--it was too horrifying to dwell on the way Legolas' arrows had pierced the lead wolf's throat, sending blood spraying, or the gore as Boromir cut the legs out from underneath another one. Once again the warrior was something to be feared, not trusted. Practicing with swords was one thing. Seeing what they did to living flesh was quite another.

No time to recover from that horror before he was faced with the next one: losing Bill. Bill--his one link to things as they had been back before they left the Shire--his one friend who would never judge him, never leave him, simply giving him everything, every day. He really _would_ have followed them into the mines, Sam was sure of it, but that tentacled beast--that had been too much.

And Sam felt partially responsible for its appearance. He'd balked when Gandalf asked him to unpack Bill, as he shouldn't for a hobbit of his stature, and in a fit of tears threw the packs on the ground for others to sort. Boromir had come to his aid, distressed by his display of emotion. When Sam saw the anguish and anger in the Man's eyes, it had stopped his tears, and when during Gandalf's trouble with the door Boromir had suggested hanging onto Bill, Sam had smiled in gratitude. Boromir gave him a look . . . a look of understanding. Not pity or judgment, not like those first days out of Rivendell. Sympathy. Understanding. Sam's heart had pounded in . . . something. Gratitude? Friendship? Some emotion he could not name.

Certainly it was a far cry from when they had first met.

But Gandalf would have none of it--Bill was going; that was that. And as Sam made a teary farewell to his friend, he saw Boromir's face twist in frustration, rage, which he masked as impatience.

Boromir threw a rock into the pond.

* * *

Oh Mr. Frodo, I so nearly lost you, Sam thought, still holding tight to his master's hand as they walked the dark uneven stairs of the mines. He wasn't leaving Mr. Frodo's side again, not 'til they were somewhere undeniably safe, which didn't look to be happening any time soon by the looks of things.

No one else had moved when that ghastly tentacle had taken hold of Frodo; they had all stared in shock as Sam cleaved at it with his small sword, dragging Mr. Frodo away towards the entrance of the mines. Then suddenly everyone was rushing forward with him, and a dozen tentacles were tearing up roots of trees, and rock was falling, and they were inside and running to avoid having the whole mountain fall on top of them. Once the sounds echoed away in the complete blackness, once they all called out that they were unhurt, all Sam could do was berate himself for being so stupid, for wasting a single moment of his time with Frodo worrying about past actions or shallow lusts, when really all that mattered was him, his love, his dear, dear master.

In the darkness as everyone recovered from the shock, Sam pressed against Frodo and wrapped his arms around him, kissing him hard, desperately, proving to himself that they really had in fact survived. He was probably a bit muddled by the lack of sleep at that point; no matter. He hadn't cared who had been watching by the meager light of Gandalf's staff, what they thought. Just to have Frodo safe in his arms, feel his lips and the silken heat of his mouth, the tremble in his limbs . . . how many minutes they spent that way, lost in the depths of each other with their limbs entangled and their mouths tasting each other, he didn't recollect. All too soon, Gandalf's hand gently nudged them as he told them they must move on.

* * *

It was now the second "day" of their progress through Moria. Coming to the end of it, actually, according to Gandalf, though with the perpetual darkness Sam wouldn't have known what the time was if he had a rooster on his shoulder. Couldn't go by his stomach, neither--they were low on food now, so it was always hungry. But at least Gandalf allowed them another swallow of the elven cordial "to strengthen their spirits" and encouraged them with the thought they were halfway through.

Frodo picked a corner as private as was possible in the abandoned chamber they'd chosen for their rest stop, behind a stone table where the light from Gandalf's staff did not reach. It was Sam this time who drew Frodo down into the bedroll, his hands roaming over the slender hobbit's shoulders, down his back, over his firm buttocks and around front to gently squeeze his way up the insides of Frodo's thighs, possessing him with a firm hand even as he brought his head close to taste Frodo's lips.

Oh, it had been too long. That was his problem; that was why he hungered so. Hadn't been able to barely touch Frodo since that night of Boromir's watch, and that was a hard thing to bear. No wonder he was having such trouble around the Gondorian, Sam told himself as he kneaded and rubbed Frodo's hard member, swallowing his master's moans as he urgently lapped at his sweet mouth.

Frodo's hands tore at the buttons on Sam's breeches, his breath catching in that lovely throat as he moved his lips to plant hot kisses along the strong line of Sam's jaw and bucked his hips up to meet Sam's hand. Sam bit back a growl as Frodo grated his teeth along the edge of his ear. He needed to taste more of Frodo, much, much more.

Sam drew back a little to unfasten Frodo's breeches, wistful that he daren't try removing any more clothing than that--he wouldn't remove the mithril coat for nothing where orcs might take a shot at them, so he'd have to leave those luscious nipples alone this time. He'd make it up to them next time.

Once Frodo's breeches were down, Sam dipped down his head to first nibble up the sensitive insides of his white thighs, making Frodo clamp a hand over his mouth to hold back a moan, his head thrown back. Frantically he motioned for Sam to change his position; Sam did so, burrowing into the blanket with his feet sticking out awkwardly (to his mind) out past Frodo's head. Awkwardness was forgotten as Frodo immediately took him into his mouth; lest he lose himself immediately and climax too soon, Sam set to pleasing his master, running his tongue around the head of his beautiful cock and lapping up the precum--ah, the taste made him almost dizzy with want. Beautiful Mr. Frodo, loving him. He would endeavor to be more worthy.

Frodo was picking up the pace, drawing him deep into his throat, and Sam fought to keep control for just a moment longer, sucking first the head then as much of the shaft as he could, trying to savor the moment, prolong his master's pleasure. Frodo thrust up and he gagged a little, pulling back, but it wouldn't have mattered; Sam had to stop for a second as suddenly he fell over the edge and his seed burst from him in pounding wave after wave of pleasure. He bit his cheek to keep from screaming, slowly pumping Frodo's member until the waves subsided and he could return his attention to his master's needs.

Sam didn't hold back now, but sucked hard and deep on his master, using one hand to pump him while the other cupped his balls and massaged the ridge of pleasure behind them. Licking one finger, he slipped it inside to better massage the spot, and was gratified when Frodo buried his face against his legs, clutching at him. His cock began to pulse, then Sam was drinking down the essence of him, lovingly keeping him in his mouth until all the tremors passed. He crawled back around to lay next to Frodo, kissing his eyelids, his hair, his cheek. "Love you, master, I'll always love you," he murmured, running a hand down Frodo's back in slow steady circles. Frodo burrowed his head against his shoulder, sighing contentedly, one arm thrown carelessly across his broad chest. They lay together a few moments, just resting.

"Best put ourselves back together, Sam; I have second watch," Frodo murmured, rising up a little to pull up his breeches. His eyes were large black pools in the near darkness, watching Sam, his fine brows drawn together in--what was that, concern?

Sam forced himself to ask though he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Sir? Is anything the matter?"

Frodo smiled; one of his sad, sweet smiles, and brushed back the curls from Sam's face, rubbing one thumb lightly over his brow. "No, Sam, I don't think so. I just want you to know . . . " he paused, looking deep into Sam's eyes until he was certain every secret wish and dream he'd ever had was plucked out of him, "I want you to know I truly love you. No matter what happens, no matter what you do."

A chill crept over Sam's heart. What did that mean?

"I . . . yes, sir," he stammered, blushing, glad the darkness hid the fact his ears must near be glowing now. "I really have forgiven you, you should know. I love you so much it hurts."

Frodo bent down and kissed him very gently on the lips, his eyelashes fluttering against Sam's cheek with a trace of moisture Sam wasn't sure if it was tears or sweat from their lovemaking. Then he turned over and curled up in his blankets to sleep.

Sam slept a little apart from him--Frodo hated when a watch woke the both of them when it only need waken one, so when one of them had a later watch they slept in separate rolls--easier too on the person waking them not to be embarrassed by entangled limbs and such. They made sure those times they were fully dressed, too.

Despite that, Sam did waken a while later. He had no idea how much later--Frodo was asleep in his blanket, and the faint light from Gandalf's staff glowed on unwaveringly. A certain pressing need was calling, so he rose to take care of it in one of the side tunnels, wincing as the sound of it echoed off the walls--he wondered how much Frodo and his noises had been discernable for the rest of the party. Returning, he glanced over at Merry's pallet and saw Pippin was curled up on Merry's chest like a little wee one . . . . hmmmm. He had to wonder how Merry's resolve was holding up. He looked all right--exhausted, really. Poor fellow. Sam knew how it was caring for one you loved and not able to touch them the way you truly wished.

A low rumbling clearing of the throat startled Sam. Boromir was on watch, and watching him, the strands of his fair hair falling into his eyes as he gazed upon the hobbit with an intense expression only too familiar to Sam. He should get back to Frodo--if Boromir was on watch that meant Frodo had already had his turn and soon it would be time for everyone to wake and get moving again. But he saw Boromir raise one hand slightly, gesturing to a spot next to him on the floor by the doorway of the chamber. Gandalf's staff was propped in a torch holder next to him, throwing its light in a bright circle around him in a way that outlined harsh planes of light and shadows on his face. Sam shivered. He really ought to be going back to Frodo. But he found himself instead coming to sit down next to Boromir.

Sam sat in silence a moment, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling up with expectation, warning, and yes, he could not deny it--interest. He glanced over at Boromir's hands resting on the cold stone floor--the warrior had removed his gloves, and Sam was caught looking at the squared fingers lightly callused from wielding a weapon, yet not weathered and toughened like Aragorn's--fleshier, younger, softer. Sam swallowed and licked his lips, imagining those hands on him, such big hands . . . he jumped when Boromir finally spoke.

"I think we need to talk. I wanted to apologize--for Caradhras . . . I did mean for you to ever know." Boromir's voice was a low throaty whisper. It was all Sam could do not to shudder in want.

Was he talking about what Sam thought? "I should be the one apologizing, sir. If I made you at all uncomfortable . . ." Boromir had felt it when he was hard against him; that had to be it. If it wasn't, well, they hadn't said anything that would make things difficult between them yet. Perhaps Boromir simply thought it had been his fault Sam fell off at the end of the trail.

Boromir chuckled, leaning back. In the stillness of the chamber Sam could hear the creak of leather, the soft chink of his chain mail. "I admit I'm a little jealous of you and Frodo. One of my captains and I . . . we were very close on a time . . . but nothing next to what I see between the two of you. You're very lucky."

Hmm, Sam's first guess had been right. But what was this--why tell him all of this--why reveal he'd been in similar relationships before? Sam's brows drew together in sudden suspicion.

Boromir saw it. "What is it? Why do you look at me like that?"

Sam immediately dropped his gaze--he was no good at hiding things, seemingly. He shook his head, trying to think of an answer, something that would damage the fragile new friendship between them. Again, he looked at Boromir's hand. Exhaling a frustrated breath, he lightly patted it and muttered, "It's nothing."

Boromir flinched, drawing his hand away. "You're right not to trust me, you know. My first loyalty is not to your master, but to Gondor and Gondor's allies. I have been content to follow Aragorn's lead, but I will have my say in time over where our final path should lead. I still say it is folly to go to Mordor."

"I'm not following you, sir--why tell me? You're thinkin' I should be more wary of you? So that I am better able to . . . to . . ." Sam couldn't say it; couldn't say, 'so I'll be better able to control my desire for you.' That would make it too real, too present. Truth to say the Man had never looked more desirable; his barriers were down, his face earnest and open. A haunted shadow filled his eyes, reminding Sam suddenly of the haunted look that plagued his master now and again when his hand crept up to fondle the Ring on its chain.

Boromir leaned forward, until they were eye to eye, until Sam could feel the faint touch of his breath on his cheek, his gaze burning, lips parted. "Of all the Fellowship I believe you and I are most alike--we are servants, willing to fight to defend, and plain men of common sense. I like you--liked you from the first when you stood up to take your place next to your master to face the quest, not caring what you were facing. If circumstances were different, I would . . ." he licked his lips, and Sam swallowed, imagining himself leaning forward just a little to bring their lips together, feel the tickle of that beard on his cheek. He was panting. Sam swallowed again, trying to control his urges.

Boromir drew back, and it was obvious--his breathing had also quickened. "You sound like an excellent lover. Best get back to your master. My watch should be nearly up now."

If he didn't hear a dismissal in those words, he weren't no servant. The warrior was letting him go, despite the fact that all he had to do to break Sam's will was raise his hand to cup the back of Sam's head and draw him forward, open his mouth . . . would they have been able to stop with just a kiss, he wondered? Could he have kept his loyalty intact having tasted this race of Man? He didn't know. Didn't want to know, neither.

Like Boromir said, best get back to Frodo. Concentrate on his needs, try to sleep a little, try to relax. Try to forget.

But forgetting would not come easy knowing his longing was shared.

* * *


End file.
